


Horrificsmut Prompt Fills

by mightbeanasshole



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - High School, Biting, Daddy Kink, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Murderteeth, Rimming, Shower Sex, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-03-18 15:00:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 43
Words: 17,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3574031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mightbeanasshole/pseuds/mightbeanasshole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of short one-offs fulfilling prompts submitted to horrificsmut.tumblr.com. Request your own at horrificsmut.tumblr.com/ask or in the comments!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Micheoff - High School AU, Daddy Kink

> ayooooooo ok maybe some straight up micheoff smut (maybe in the aftermath universe ;))) where michael accidentally call's geoff daddy bc it's been something he was trying to work up the courage to talk to geoff about but it just kinda slips out and geoff is like "ALRIGHTALRIGHTALRIGHTALRIGHT"

Of course Michael’s on his back when it happens— _ **of course,** that’s just Michael’s luck—_so Geoff can observe the look of pure and unadulterated horror that flashes across Michael’s face when he accidentally calls Geoff **_daddy_** **** _ **.**_

Of course the lights are on. 

Of course it’s quiet enough that there’s no mistaking the word as it drops out of Michael’s mouth—Geoff mid-thrust, his face slack with lust and strain in the seconds before Michael lets that goddamned bomb drop. 

Of course it was something Michael had _never_ planned on calling Geoff in real life, **out loud** —no matter _how_ often the word might get thrown around in his dreams and masturbation fantasies.  _Because how the hell do you make shit more complicated for a navel-gazing teacher with a heavy guilt complex about the fact that he’s fucking his high school student? Just throw the word “ **daddy** "_ _into the mix!,_ Michael thinks. God, Michael is a moron. He’s the king of morons.

So of course when Michael’s brain goes haywire—synapses firing apparently at random as Geoff strokes into him, gray matter hell-bent on gumming up his entire life—when Michael ought to be enjoying the fact that Geoff is fucking him into the mattress and looking _so good_  while doing it, instead Michael is choking out a plea to be fucked harder, please Geoff, please **—** ** _daddy—_**  and the word rudely makes its first appearance and Michael doesn’t know, exactly, how it got there, worming its way into reality—but there it is and now he has to live with it.

Geoff looks _outraged_ at the word, his mouth dropping open and eyebrows knitting together, but he doesn’t stop. And christ, Michael realizes, he’s going even harder now, hitching an arm up under one of Michael’s knees and closing the gap between their bodies as he rocks even deeper into Michael, the sound of skin on skin getting louder, Geoff breathing hard in his ear, and shit—he’s not mad, Michael realizes, _**he’s turned on—**_ because now Geoff’s saying some of the dirtiest things Michael’s ever heard, delivered in a sweet, praising voice: _you’re so good baby boy, god Michael, you know how to take care of your daddy._


	2. Joelay/Raywood High School AU, Angst

> joel/ray/ryan, angst, just fuck me up

Ryan has his back towards the school, facing Ray—so he doesn’t know that the change he sees in Ray’s face is a reaction to Heyman walking towards them from the cantina. 

"Ray, it was a misunderstanding, honestly—"

But Ryan stops to watch several expressions flash across the student’s face—surprise, recognition, warmth—before Ray settles on worry. 

"Joel, it’s OK—" Ray starts to say, and Ryan finally turns. The older teacher looks furious as his long paces carry him to their spot in the parking lot, and before Ryan knows what to make of the situation, Heyman is standing in front of Ray—as if Ryan was about to strike the student—and posturing up into Ryan’s personal space. 

"Why are you on this campus?" Heyman wants to know. 

"It’s OK, Joel, he was apologizing," Ray says, "please," and Ryan watches as the student lays a steady hand on the teacher’s arm. _So,_ Ryan thinks. _Joel knows._ The realization, the tone of Ray’s voice—it all makes Ryan’s stomach bottom out in a way that seems to throw his balance off, the horizon upending, and Ryan feels like he needs to grab hold of something solid—but there’s nothing there. 

"Don’t you think you’ve wrecked this kid’s head enough?" Heyman wants to know.

And now Ray actually presses his palm into Heyman’s hand, trying to get his attention—and it works for a minute, the older man’s expression going soft before he turns to the student. 

"Head to class," he says—not unkind but completely unbudging. 

"Joel, come on, I don’t need—" Ray begins to protest, but Joel simply tilts his head a few degrees and Ray shuts up. His posture changes—and he doesn’t even bother saying goodbye to Ryan as he hitches his backpack on one shoulder and slowly mounts the hill back towards the cantina. 


	3. Raywood, Fluff

> Because that angst fucked me up, could you do some Raywood fluff please? <3

Every day, whether it’s a good day or a bad day for the younger man, it takes Ray time to warm up to Ryan after work.

At first, Ryan had misinterpreted it as Ray being cold—but he’s learned over time that it’s simply the way the other man operates. He just needs a minute. And sure: it can be difficult sometimes. 

When they’re behind closed doors, Ryan would like nothing more than to scoop Ray up or ask him about his day or tell him about the ridiculous idea he had on the drive over. The impulse is so strong that he doesn’t even realize that he’s doing it at first, catching himself in mid-sentence or with his arm halfway around Ray. But when he does that too fast, he’s only rewarded with work-Ray, the kid with a quick ironic comeback and a self-deprecating joke. 

So instead, Ryan waits. And Ray always finds him in his own time.

Today they splitting paths at the door after work, and Ryan’s tired of staring at screens. He finds the book he’s been reading on-and-off and settles onto the couch. Ray’s been MIA since they walked in, but eventually he comes to join Ryan on the couch with a neutral expression, his DS in hand. He sits hip to hip with Ryan and flips the DS open. 

It only takes a dozen or so minutes before Ray has silently made his way into Ryan’s lap—and it’s honestly impressive how he does it in stages, without even pausing his game. Ryan can tell just by the weight of him and the lack of tension in Ray’s muscles that he’s ready now, though, and Ryan sets his book down on the arm of the couch. 

He threads a hand through Ray’s hair and the younger man heaves a deep sigh. Ray almost looks like he’s waking up from sleep as he closes the DS and looks up at Ryan.

"Hey," Ryan says, unable to stop himself from smiling.


	4. Joelay, Angst

> because im a terrible person maybe some angst joelay?? (or any joelay really im desperate)

It’s too easy to get along with Ray, to waste hours with him, to fall into bed together. It’s probably entirely unhealthy, too—Joel knows it—because the kid is the only person he’s ever met who falls into the pattern of endless joking and irony and self-deprecation without ever lapsing into a genuine moment. 

Sure, Joel lets _himself_ do it. It’s a defense mechanism that ballooned over decades to the point where he can’t quite define the line between irony and actual personality—and that’s fine—Joel knows who he is at the end of the day.

But after a few weeks of easy companionship with Ray and zero serious conversations, Joel starts to feel a hard kernel of anxiety. It’s probably not right for him to dominate Ray’s time like this when he’s not even sure if he knows who, exactly, Ray _**is** —_behind the joking and the teasing. 

And there’s a point at which Joel realizes that the nights when Ray heads out afterwards, pulling on his hoodie and turning a fist into a sleepy eye with some half-true excuse—the nights when Ray leaves to go back to an empty apartment have outnumbered the mornings where Joel gets to wake up with Ray—the times when neither man says a thing, and Ray lets him kiss the graceful, fragile-feeling bones across Ray’s chest, his neck. 

Joel has to wonder, then: is it right to keep doing this when the best times seem to be when they’re both silent?


	5. Joelayan, Fluff

> Ahh ok its from that verse aww i LOEV that verse you still taking short prompt thingers? cna w ehave happy joelayan?

Ray has no idea how he ended up with not one but TWO completely pedantic boyfriends but honestly, some days he has _utterly no time and no patience for this shit._

And today somehow a conversation about where they’d go for dinner has dissolved into a heated discussion about descriptive versus prescriptive grammar—and honestly, Ray couldn’t tell an oxford comma from a fucking semi colon, he just wants a goddamned burger or something.

"What’s the point of even having grammar if—if you’re just going to _ignore_ it, Ryan, why even—”

"Look, I wasn’t _ignoring grammar_ ,” Ryan insists. “I was flubbing my sentence—there’s a difference—but now that you’ve brought it up, I’m just saying, grammar is not like mathematics, it’s a living thing, it—”

"Oh, oh, ex **cuse** me,” Joel says, throwing up his hands. “Sorry to hinder the rights of your _living grammar—”_

"Guys," Ray says.

"That’s not—look—if we didn’t have an evolving grammar—"

"So you want grammar to read like a text message? You’re _really_ ready to live in that world, Ryan?”

” _Guys_ ,” Ray repeats.

"It’s not about what we _want_ , Joel—grammar is going to be dictated by the next generation and—”

"The next generation is full of morons, Ryan, they’re terrible, we’ve been over this—"

"I swear to christ," Ray says, and they both turn to him because his voice has gone icy. "If no one feeds me in the next ten minutes I swear to christ neither one of you is ever touching me again."

The two men frown deeply and Joel produces a set of car keys out of nowhere. Ryan nods gravely. Ray can barely keep up with them as they barrel out the door.


	6. Myeoff, Murderteeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING - chapter contains non-graphic physical violence

> [whispers] what about something from cannibal au. i think "just fuck me up" is a theme you have going, yeah? so just fuck me up 

There’s one time when Ryan and Michael let one get loose on purpose, the guy crashing out towards the wooded property by the house, clumsy in the darkness, his sounds and shouts rocking out and dissolving into the humid night air.

They’d discussed it beforehand, of course. 

They just want to know what Geoff will do. They want to watch.

It’s not even a test—nothing as malicious as that. Even if Geoff lets the guy get completely out of his control, there will be no repercussions for Geoff. He’d bought into the system and he’d made it very clear that he was a hunter—not a butcher. 

So, then. Let him hunt, they think.

Geoff is up and after the man as soon as he sees that his prey is on the move. It’s a thing of beauty, watching Geoff’s mind work from their vantage point on the roof. Geoff doesn’t even look around for them, doesn’t even question the fact that they’re not by the prey’s side, in control of the situation. That’s just Geoff’s level of trust, his acceptance of responsibility. 

If one of them goes down, all three will. And it’s not out of self-preservation—they know that now. Geoff doesn’t sprint hard through the tall grass because he’s afraid of going to jail, doesn’t silently track the man in the moonlight because he’s afraid for himself. 

It is to protect the two of them. Even if he knows what grisly work they do.

And so they watch with keen eyes as the stranger hits the edge of the clearing, ready to disappear into the trees. His body is uninjured, but Geoff had dealt a heavy blow to his temple earlier and the man is disoriented in the dark. He’s bellowing for help and wasting his breath. 

Ryan squeezes a hand over Michael’s shoulder as they watch Geoff’s form overtake him. 

Geoff comes at the stranger like a lover, a hand on his hip, before his arm locks down tight in front of the man’s throat. His shout comes abruptly to a weak close as Geoff’s other arm comes up to the other side of the man’s neck, his arms locking together in an efficient rear naked choke. 

The prey struggles against him, clawing at his arms, and Michael’s heart swells when he thinks about the deep scratches Michael will get to dress later, about swabbling the blood from Geoff’s tattooed forearms as the man breathes deeply, his pupils blown out wide from the hunt. Michael savors the anticipation as he watches Geoff slowly walk the prey backwards, until the man is still and lying down. 

Ryan chuckles, then, as they both watch Geoff find a pulse in the man’s neck.

He doesn’t like to kill them if he doesn’t have to. 

They watch as Geoff heaves the prey up into a rough fireman’s carry and heads back towards the house. 

Michael stands up, knowing Geoff will see the movement. He waves and Geoff’s head jerks upwards, spotting them now in the moonlight. Geoff gives them a curt nod and continues forward.


	7. Raytillo, Kitten Play

> WAIT KITTEN PLAY RAY

Jack’s at his desk, headphones on and at a decent volume, when he feels a warm hand working it’s way up his calf. Jack would’ve jumped out of his skin if he weren’t so used to finding Ray under there when he needs attention.

He hadn’t realized they were alone, but everyone else must have left for lunch because as he does a quick scan of the office—Ray’s hand working its way playfully higher up his leg—and Jack sees that each desk is empty. He rolls his desk chair back a bit, taking off the headphones and smiling down at Ray. 

"Hey there," he says quietly.

The ears are really kind of remarkable and they match Ray’s hair, even down to the subtle highlights. They were well worth the money. 

So was the slender, neat collar with its perfect pink bell, the enamel offsetting the pink lining of Ray’s kitten ears. 

It’s a flawless sight, then, Ray pawing forward, aloof but affectionate. Jack hums as Ray nuzzles his face into Jack’s thigh. The larger man pats his lap and Ray trills, delighted, pushing up to sit softly in Jack’s lap as the man runs his hand through Ray’s plush hair.


	8. Raycheal, Flirting

> could you do some smutty raychael pretty please with a cherry ontop

Honestly, Michael and Ray had been an on-again/off-again thing for years until it dwindled down to nothing. Michael was in high demand in the office and Ray was content with the attention he received. Their chemistry had just ebbed, their attention elsewhere. Which was fine—friends with benefits could shrink back to being “just friends” without too much angst.

But somehow, when it seems like Michael is in most demand, his attention suddenly turns back to Ray.

Ray doesn’t think about it too terribly much, or try to read into the fact that maybe it’s because Ray’s the only person who _isn’t_ paying attention to Michael right now, not fawning over his new muscles and wardrobe.

But suddenly, here Michael is. A hand on Ray’s groin under the booth table at lunch, a dirty text message during a slow Minecraft episode, a long, challenging look first thing in the morning. Ray likes the attention, too, but he makes Michael work for a response, going deadpan and not returning his advances.

Michael’s never been known for his patience. So it’s not that surprising when he gets Ray cornered in the hall after an AHWU. Michael pins him to the wall with a smile. 

"I like your Lazer Team muscles, Michael," Ray says, flat.

"No you don’t," Michael says through his grin. "If you did, you’d let me have a minute alone with you." 

"Little help?" Ray say, spotting Geoff approaching them from over Michael’s shoulder. Geoff just shrugs.

"Is there not a company policy against this?" Ray asks, Michael grinding up against him conspicuously.

"Against what?" Geoff says, looking directly at them. "I didn’t see nothin.’"

"Thanks, Geoff," Michael says.

"You betcha," Geoff says, disappearing down the hall.

"Motherfucker," Ray says. And then, turning his attention back to Michael: "So, you gonna blow me or just… I mean we could just hang out on this wall for a while, that’s fine." 


	9. Geoff/Jeremy - Waking up sex

Geoff wakes up with a hum of satisfaction to the weight of Jeremy across his hips, the man kissing gently into his neck, down his naked chest.

“You gotta wake up, boss,” Jeremy says quietly in between kisses.

“Hm,” Geoff says, not opening his eyes.

“We got shit to do today,” Jeremy insists, talking into the bare skin of Geoff’s neck. Geoff rocks his hips up in answer.

“Nah.” Geoff says, dreamily. “This is good. This works. Let’s do this more.”

Jeremy skips the obvious: that they’re going to be late, that Geoff is insufferable. Geoff feels his weight move and he’s somewhere halfway back to his dream when Jeremy’s hands are on his hips, stripping off his boxer briefs, tilting his hips up.

 _Kid cuts right to the chase,_ Geoff thinks appreciatively, thinking he’s about to be the recipient of generous, patient morning head.

Instead, Jeremy ignores his cock entirely, hitching Geoff’s hips up further and using his tongue to tease the skin behind his balls. Geoff lets out a distinctly-more-awake-now “ _oh fuck”_ and lazily lets his legs spread wider, drawing his knees up as Jeremy lays a stripe now across his ass. And even though sleep is a distant afterthought now as Jeremy presses and strokes against his hole, the whines he’s dragging out of Geoff are still thick and dreamy sounding.

Eventually when Geoff starts making words ( _fuck–oh–Jeremy–jesus–that’s amazing–_ ) and he’s satisfied that the other man is awake enough, Jeremy draws back–Geoff whining at the absence–and he sucks around a finger to start teasing Geoff open. At the first touch of the pad of his finger, Geoff is moving to meet Jeremy’s hand.

“Shit, Jeremy–I thought you said we had things to do today?”

“If we’re gonna be late, we’re gonna be late because I was fucking you,” Jeremy says. It ends the discussion neatly.


	10. Micheoff - Biting, Bakery AU

It starts–like most things do with them–as a joke.

Geoff pushes a bite of a tester cupcake into Michael’s mouth and the kid has the audacity to bite him. Geoff makes some joke about biting the hand that feeds him, and that spirals off into Michael affecting a French accent and declaring  _“let them eat cock!”–_ and they hadn’t  _really_ meant it to devolve into one of those occasions where they both have to slip back into Geoff’s office for a while before they’ll be able to concentrate on anything else, but it had escalated quickly, Geoff grabbing Michael by the hips and spinning him to growl “two can play at that” into his ear before biting the lobe softly, worrying it between his teeth, knowing now that it’s one of the things that amps his employee up almost instantly. And all at once, Michael is shoving him off, spinning, kissing insistently down Geoff’s neck until he’s reached the point where neck meets shoulder–and once there, Michael tugs Geoff’s shirt down to expose a few more inches of skin before biting down–hard–into the ropey muscle and grinding into his hip. 

The game is over, then, and Geoff can barely get Michael to disengage from his sucking and biting into Geoff’s neck long enough to order him back into the office. 

“Get in there and get your pants off,” he orders, low, only loud enough for Michael to hear as he hips the smaller man towards the direction of the closed office door.

“Ray, need you to cover the front for a while,” Geoff yells down the hall.

“Geoff, need you to go fuck yourself,” Ray yells back.

“OK, well… put the sign up and lock the door for me?” Geoff says.

“Roger that, boss.”


	11. Jack/Gavin - Aroused by touch

Jack is the first one back in the office after lunch and for once the couch is unoccupied and clear of junk. Jack kicks off his shoes and lets himself fall face-first down onto the couch, retrieving his phone and flicking it open, browsing twitter as he waits for everyone to return. 

Gavin and Michael are the first ones back, carrying in whatever bizarre conversation they’d had going in the car. Gavin interrupts it, though, the minute he sees Jack. 

“That looks like a man who needs a back rub,” he says to Michael. 

“That is… a sentence I have never thought about Jack in my entire life,” Michael says, dropping down into his chair and grabbing headphones. 

“Wow, Michael, words  _hurt,”_ Gavin says, and he’s already at the couch, slinging his legs across Jack’s hips, pressing his palms into the widest part of his back on either side of his spine.

“Jesus christ, Gavin,” Jack says. It feels fucking incredible.

“Am I crushing you, Jack?” 

“Yeah, your entire 75 pounds of humanity is crushing him,” Michael says, not bothering to turn around from his desk. 

And Michael is right, Gavin’s weight is practically nothing on top of him as Gavin kneads the heels of his hands into the muscles of Jack’s back. Jack lets his head fall into his laced hands and he hums down into the couch. 

“Holy shit Gavin that’s amazing,” he says appreciatively. 

Gavin hums back at him, kneading into alternate muscles now like a cat–and Jack can feel the tension melt out of his muscles, out of his whole body, replaced by warmth as he doesn’t even attempt to pretend like the massage doesn’t feel amazing. 

“Oh jesus,” he says, “yeah, right there–can you feel that?”

“Of course I can feel it,” Gavin says. “Fucking knot’s the size of a golf ball, isn’t it? What did you  _do_ Jack?”

Gavin starts rocking on his back, attempting to push more weight into the knot, and he’s rocking Jack’s hips into the couch–and what had been slow and pleasant for a moment has definitely crossed the line into  _whoops, this is hot–_ and in that instant, Jack knows that Gavin knows exactly what he’s doing. He attempts to catch Gavin’s eye in a look that will communicate “I know you know I know, you lovely bastard”–but only succeeds in straining his neck. In the end he’s just glad that he’s goddamned face down on the couch–and that everyone else takes another twenty minutes to return from their break.


	12. Joel/Michael - Sex in a small space

It wouldn’t be so bad if the long-limbed bastard weren’t so goddamn  _tall_ , or even if Joel had chosen to pull Michael into one of the many closets in the building that’s actually big enough to accommodate two people. But no, the tall dickbag had managed to pull Michael into the smallest, fullest fucking storage closet in the entire facility–and though at first he’d clamped a hand over Michael’s mouth, shooting him that goddamn smile and telling him to be quiet, Joel had apparently forgotten all about keeping things silent once he had Michael’s pants at his hips–because now, as he teases his mouth up and down Michael’s hard-on, squeezing his hips and pressing him backwards, he’s rhythmically knocking things over with every stroke. 

Spare keyboard. Half-empty bottle of bleach. Pushbroom. The closet is in even more disarray than it was when they first got there, which is really saying something. 

And Michael tries not to think about whatever sharp things are pushing into his back, tries to just enjoy the attention, but the longer they go, the weaker Michael’s legs are feeling, and he tries to lean back and up just a little so Joel won’t have to hunch–but something gives with a pop behind him and he realizes that he has somehow disconnected two layers of the plastic shelving unit they’re up against as he feels a hugely increased pressure in the sensation pushing back against him.

“Joel.  _Fuck, Joel.”_ He can’t seem to get the other man’s attention–Joel mistaking his attempts to talk to him as arousal–and finally Michael fists his hand into the other man’s hair. Joel lets himself be pulled off, frowning open-mouthed up at Michael.

“Hey. The only thing holding all this shit up behind right now me is my back.” 

“Better stay still then, huh?” he says before smiling the most dangerous smile and swallowing down Michael until his nose is pressed into Michael’s stomach.


	13. Geoff/Ryan - Shower sex

The second or third time Geoff had stayed over at Ryan’s place, he’d made fun of the fact that Ryan had those little grippy pads in the bottom of his shower. They were light blue and shaped like flowers. Just like something a grandma would have, Geoff had said. 

Ryan hadn’t risen to the bait when Geoff had teased him about it. Geoff teased him about everything unfashionable he did or wore or had in his house. It was nothing new. 

But Ryan can’t help but to want some revenge now as he holds Geoff by the hips, watching water stream down the other man’s back, as he inches his way into Geoff after a stretch that he’d drawn out so long their fingers and toes were pruning. Ryan bottoms out, fitting his hips against Geoff’s ass and then grinding even deeper for good measure, listening to Geoff groan for him over the sound of the shower–and the prep comes in handy because Ryan doesn’t feel like taking it slow after that, drawing back before he lays a hard stroke into Geoff, watches the other man’s tattooed hands reach for purchase against the clean tiles–and then another hard stroke, steadying him–and Ryan looks down to see Geoff’s toes curling onto the little blue daisies–and with the next hard stroke, he stays sunk, moving his mouth next to the other man’s ear, grinding into him as Geoff groans out a sentence about how good it is. Ryan prepares to deliver a teasing comment about how he bets Geoff is glad for his shower safety measures now–but Geoff talks over him in the same instant.

“Jesus christ Ryan I take back everything bad I ever said about your stupid grandma grippy pads in the shower– _fuck,_ dude.”


	14. Meg/Ryan "Can I kiss you?"

“Can I kiss you, Ryan?”

She says it with an enormous grin across her face–over chips and salsa of all things–with the look in her eyes that lets him know she’s joking but not at all joking, with the way she holds her mouth sometimes that is all at once friendly and inviting but at the same time makes Ryan feel like she could devour him if she chose to. He would let her. The thoughts, the gaze all happen in an instant and Ryan’s mind is already whirring with a comeback while simultaneously cataloging what it sounds like to hear “Can I kiss you, Ryan?” asked so innocently in that familiar voice. It already feels like the question will be bouncing around in his head for the rest of his life–what they are, what they could be, what they would’ve been in a different universe with a different set of circumstances. 

“I mean, I think it would be hard to do across a restaurant booth,” Ryan says. Only a second has passed. Meg laughs easily, her eyes squeezing shut as she tilts her head back. 

“Damn it, Ryan,” she says when she’s done. She selects a corn chip then, leaning one elbow on the table, putting the chip between perfect front teeth and holding it there, looking up at him, knowing exactly what she’s doing. Leave it to Meg to make eating a corn chip an exercise in eroticism. “You know it’s gonna happen. We might as well get it over with.”

“Over with?” Ryan says. He tucks his chin and raises an eyebrow at her. “You make kissing me sound like filing taxes. I’m wounded.” 

She laughs again, refusing to be derailed. 

“The only thing kissing you would have in common with doing my taxes is that I’d be sure to take my time and do it right,” she says, the grin gone. 

“Meg–”

“Right! So,” she says, grabbing a large laminated menu, knowing she’d pushed him too far. Ryan hates himself for not being able to play along, for not being able to keep the caution out of his voice. “Enchiladas, huh?”


	15. Kovic/James "I'm flirting with you."

James has been staring at him for a solid minute.

Which, in the scheme of things, wouldn’t be the biggest deal. But it’s James. And those eyes feel like spotlights sometimes, Christ. 

Adam is trying to edit and here he is rolling closer, pushing some joke. Asshole. Adam has work to do. 

It keeps going. Adam refuses to break. Whatever joke is building had better be a good one. He hopes someone is recording this because he’s not going to lose. 

James is half a foot from his face now. Adam can see his eyes in his peripheral vision, refusing to look away from the screen. James hasn’t blinked. Adam fights a break in his poker face, forcing a frown. 

James’ face is almost touching Adam’s. Adam can feel his breath. If there was any sexual tension now, it’s been drained out of the situation with sheer ridiculousness. 

“Adam,” James whispers, deadpan. 

“James,” Adam says at full volume. “What. Are you doing.” 

“I’m flirting with you,” James says through clenched teeth, the words distorted and flat. “Is it working?” 

“Yes James,” Adam says, now matching the flat tone. Someone moves behind them. Is Lawrence periscoping this? “I’m super turned on, wow. You’re a master.” 

“That’s what they tell me,” James says, teeth still clenched. They both refuse to break. The humor is leaving the moment. Adam knows he has to rescue it. 

So before James has a chance to capitalize on the moment or do something else or abandon the joke entirely, Adam whips his head to the side, catching James off guard, catching James’ mouth with his own–and neither of them close their eyes (his eyes are even more disarming this close up) as they laugh into a kiss that becomes a little too real at the end. 

The raucous laughter of Bruce and Lawrence let them know that they’ve succeeded in whatever joke was originally intended. Spoole lets out an “eww” from a few feet away. 

“Aw, Spoole, don’t be jealous,” Adam says, breaking their kiss, simultaneously slinging an arm across James to keep him from rolling his chair away and reaching out to Spoole. 

“Did you periscope that whole thing?” he hears Bruce ask. 

“Yeah, comedic gold,” Lawrence says. 

“See, this is the soft porn content our audience deserves,” Bruce says, returning to his own chair. 

They’re already breaking up, the entertaining moment passing, everyone going back to work. Adam still has his arm across James. He gives the arm he’d grabbed an appreciative squeeze, catches James’ eyes, smiles. He’s met with a face that’s all white grin and impossible blue eyes. They share a second of contact before James does roll away, back to his own spot, humming and pleased.


	16. Matt/Kovic/Lawrence "Do you ever think we should just stop this?"

“Do you ever think we should just stop this?” 

The question slips out of Matt from nowhere and it hits Lawrence in the chest like a sucker punch. He hadn’t even realized that Matt was awake–the three of them in bed, early sun streaming in through the windows in Lawrence’s apartment. He thought the other two men were still dozing–but clearly they’re all three of them awake because Adam is reacting to the question before Lawrence can move, gathering Matt up, pulling him closer. 

“Yes,” Adam says into Matt’s hair. The answer shocks Lawrence. He’d expected Adam to go soft and reassuring and here he is saying he has doubts. “I think that a lot.” 

Lawrence watches the two of them. 

“So should we?” Matt asks. Now the two of them are looking at Lawrence. He fumbles for his glasses on the bedside table, pressing them onto his face and frowning at them. 

“Are the two of you out of your minds?” Lawrence asks after he gathers himself up on an elbow. “The question hasn’t occurred to me even once.” 

“Hm,” Adam says, eyes cast towards the window. “As long as we have our fearless leader then.”

“Hey, fuck you Kovic,” Lawrence says, inching towards them across the sheets. Matt puffs a laugh through his nose, a grin finding its way across his face. Whatever dark moment he was having has apparently passed, and Lawrence reaches them, pressing his body against Matt, reaching an arm across his waist to pull Adam closer. 

“I mean, you could if you want,” Adam says, and he’s smiling now too. “Kind of early, though. Maybe a cup of coffee first?”


	17. Geoff/Ryan "Come home with me."

“Come home with me.” 

It’s stupid. It’s impulsive. Ryan could punch himself in the face as soon as the words spill out of his mouth. Geoff is drunk and it’s the wrong time to ask–even if the other man has been ignoring everyone else at the party all night, even if they’ve been dancing around what’s clearly a mutual attraction for  _months_ , even if Geoff had been finding every excuse to touch Ryan since he’d walked through Gavin’s door, late enough to the party that everyone who was going to be drinking was already buzzing but not so late that Geoff hadn’t had time to lay a hand on the small of Ryan’s back, to use a too-crowded kitchen as an excuse to grind up against his ass. 

Leave it to Ryan to ask someone who he’s never even kissed to spend the fucking night with him. He’s a fuck up, he’s a moron, there’s a chance Geoff doesn’t even think of him this way and he’s misread every signal for–what?–a year now? Ryan’s brain stumbles and then gallops towards some excuse to cover up the blatant come-on. You can’t just be out with it–not now, not in the middle of a crowded party, not when Geoff is probably four drinks deep. 

Geoff’s eyebrows have shot up and it looks like his brain is still processing what Ryan has said. Maybe there’s time to salvage it. 

“You shouldn’t be driving,” Ryan says, “and I live closer.” 

 _Christ,_  Ryan thinks.  _That isn’t even an excuse. It isn’t even–_ The tight-lipped grin on the older man’s face breaks into a wide smile then, handsome despite crooked teeth and ironic expression. It stops Ryan’s internal spiral and there’s something halfway between a smothering pain and complete pleasure growing his his chest.

“Yeah?” Geoff says, clearly not buying the “excuse” Ryan has tacked on at the end. 

The party buzzes around them. Someone is counting down from ten somewhere else in the house–and Geoff just stares, holding contact through the countdown, his expression unchanging–and when the voice reaches zero and a cheer rips through the party guests, Geoff takes the last step forward, somehow not spilling the drink in his hand as his free palm finds the small of Ryan’s back, as he fits their hips together too fast for Ryan to do a damn thing about it, as his lips brush and press against Ryan’s, as Ryan can smell the familiar sweet booze on the other man’s breath and  _feel_  the smile on his face and, shit, this has been a mistake but every ounce of him wants it. 

“Well, safety first,” Geoff says, still too close to his face. “Take me home, Ryan.”


	18. Micheoff - It's ok to cry.

The first time it happened--the full-on crying--they both hated themselves a little afterwards.

Neither discussed it, of course. Not that day.

Michael had flopped over the minute they were done, throwing up a shield of fake machismo as he set his shoulders and excused himself to the bathroom for a wet washcloth. Geoff just laid in bed wondering what the hell had happened, wondering if he’d done something wrong or if something else was going on with the high school senior that he didn’t know about.

The last time either of them had cried, it had been Geoff--that night on the balcony.

But as Michael had crashed towards climax this time, looking up at Geoff, his eyebrows knitting together, his eyes had gone big and wet and his breathing odd. The tears didn’t break free until Geoff was stroking him, until Michael was cumming in streaks across his own chest--and a few fat tears had rolled down cheeks flushed with exertion.

It pushed Geoff to his own orgasm abruptly, a choked “Michael, Christ,” babbling out as he finished, almost shaking from the simultaneous intensity and wave of shame.

Before Geoff could look at the situation too closely, though, Michael had been back, tossing Geoff a handtowel, jostling and joking and smiling again.

It happens the second time two weeks later. It’s a similar scene: no special setup, no frantic rutting in a car or teasing. The kind of steady, straightforward sex that unfolded as two people learned every small thing that could drag the last ounce of pleasure out.

More tears this time, a longer duration, Michael holding back a little less--maybe--or maybe a little less in control of it. It shouldn’t be erotic but goddamn did it add something for Geoff: seeing him so vulnerable, so open, bared past bare as they came together.

Geoff had hated himself a little less that time. He’d caught Michael by the shoulders before he had the chance to escape, too, holding Michael close to his chest as the smaller man struggled and joked. Geoff resolved to say something, after that.

It came up over lunch the next weekend.

“You know,” he said between bites of bahn mi at a Spokane food truck, “it’s ok to cry.”

Michael gave him a look like he’d lost his mind.

“Uhh, I know that?” Michael said, swiping the back of a hand across his mouth. “Wait—cry about what? You lost me.”

“In bed,” Geoff said, trying to stay casual about it as Michael blushed deeply and dropped his eyes. “It kind of freaked me out the first time it happened but, like... You know you don’t have to hold shit like that back with me right?”

“Ugh,” Michael said. “I half hoped you wouldn’t notice.”

“Why?” Geoff asked. Michael shrugged. “It kind of gave me a boner, to be honest.”

“It gave you a boner while you were fucking me,” Michael said, cocking an eyebrow. “So what, like, a boner squared?”

“Don’t be pedantic,” Geoff said, frowning and earning a laugh.

And just like that, the moment had passed and they were on to another topic, eating Vietnamese food at a picnic table in the Washington sunshine.

Geoff had been glad, though, that he’d brought it up. True to form, the two of them found themselves in Geoff’s bed a few hours later--evening sun dying in the sky and painting every surface of the teacher’s small apartment. They went slow and silent with lips and hands roaming--and sure enough, as the deep pleasure of love and understanding translated into two bodies coming together, as the creep of orgasm began to build in the center of Geoff and unfurl up and down inside of him, Michael had gone redder, blushing from his neck to his forehead, his breathing changing just so.

“It’s ok,” Geoff had repeated, stilling at the bottom of a stroke, settling between Michael’s legs and smiling at him, a tattooed hand against the side of his face, a thumb pressed light on his lips.

“Geoff,” Michael said quietly, eyes dropping and then closing as he drew a deep breath. “Please.”

Geoff started moving again then, rocking, babbling “you’re ok,” and “I’m here,” and “fuck, Michael, I love you,” as he stroked into the man underneath him, as Michael’s tears started to flow in earnest.

And whatever started as a gentle coming together had coupled and multiplied then, Michael hitching up his hips and begging softly as he squeezed his eyes shut, Geoff closing the gap between their bodies, the rawness of the moment propelling them both forward until Michael was gulping air and their pace was fevered, Geoff driving into him and Michael meeting him with an equal roll of the hips, digging neat fingernails into hips as he hiccuped and repeated Geoff’s name, until Geoff was stroking him from base to tip in perfect timing, until they were both cumming and shaking and breathing hard--and this time, laughing softly, murmuring, no one party trying to escape, Geoff thumbing tears from Michael’s cheeks as the younger man’s breathing began to even out again. A release beyond release.


	19. Micheoff astronaut AU fluff

“Hey, uh, mission commander to CAPCOM?”

“Hey Geoff, this is CAPCOM,” Michael says, quietly. “You had a nightmare, huh?”  

Michael had watched Geoff’s HR spiking in his sleep. He already knows Geoff has had a nightmare, zipped into the weird cocoon in his tiny sleeping stall. He didn’t expect the man’s first reaction to be calling via the comms though.

“Christ,” Geoff says, breathing a little into the comm. Michael can see the faint outline of his profile in the monitor. “Hi Michael. I’m glad it’s you on duty. What’re you doing up so late?” 

“More like in so early,” Michael says. He keeps his voice soft. Mission control is dim and mostly empty at 3 a.m. “I couldn’t sleep so I came in to start on logs. Kdin’s gonna take over for me after lunch if I start to crash.” 

Geoff just hums affirmatively, and Michael watches him rub a palm over his face, not unbuckling from the sleeping bag. 

“Think you can get back to sleep?” Michael asks. 

“Yeah–I… I’ll be fine. Shit. It’s fine,” Geoff says, rolling and popping his neck on the monitor. “Will you stick around for a few minutes?” 

Michael puffs a laugh, unable to help but be amused that someone halfway between the earth and the moon could consider Michael to be “sticking around” with him. Still, he understands what Geoff means, and he continues to give the man his attention.

“Sure, Geoff,” Michael says. “Nowhere in the universe I’d rather be.” 

He can’t tell if Geoff smiles at that or not. But he’d wager the man does. 

“What was your dream about?”

Geoff closes his eyes and walks Michael through the nightmare. It starts with the shuttle malfunctioning and then crashing–a scene that he mercifully describes without too many details, knowing that Michael has been up plenty of nights recently with fears about this exact type of disaster. The narrative slows as the shuttle enters earth’s atmosphere–not breaking up in the dream, but instead landing flat onto Geoff’s ranch in Quanah. 

“We were all fine–everyone on board,” Geoff says. “Y’know, dream logic. You crash from fucking space and you’re fine. But all of my animals–it was awful. It felt so real.” 

Michael means to wind down the conversation–to convince Geoff to go to sleep. But predictably it doesn’t happen. He starts to ask about the ranch–what kind of animals did Geoff have? Why Quanah? What was it like there in the springtime? What was the first thing he’d do when he got back? And he only realizes how much time has passed when he hears the sounds of mission control coming to life behind him. 

“Shit, Geoff,” he says, “I didn’t mean to keep you up all night.” Michael watches the monitor as Geoff flicks on the light in his little private cubicle, checking the time. It’s close to 6 now. The man just smiles into the monitor. 

“I’d talk to you about my stupid little ranch for a lot longer than that, if we didn’t both have other shit to be doing today,” Geoff says. Michael nods absentmindedly at the comm, forgetting momentarily that the other man can’t see him. It’s easy to forget with the way Geoff stares into the monitor like they’ve known each other for years–not weeks. 

“A rain check, then,” Michael says, yawning. 

“I’m holding you to that when I get back, you know,” Geoff says. “You’re still gonna have a job and you’re going to have to put up with my retired ass at all hours of the night. I’m not gonna shut up just because you still have an important job to do.” 

“I hope you won’t,” Michael says. “But you’d better get the day started before Barb yells at me for keeping you up.” 

“Right,” Geoff says. “Hey–drink a cup of real coffee for me, ok?” 

“Way ahead of you,” Michael says, slurping loudly from a thermos over the comm.

“Mm, I can taste it from here,” Geoff says, laughing. 


	20. Fake AH Raywood

Michael isn’t trying to be a creep when he watches them from the doorway. If he’d walked in on any other combination of people in the crew getting handsy, he would’ve mouthed off about them getting a room–or maybe barged in to insert himself into whatever was going on.

But it’s Ryan. And Ray. 

And Michael is so struck by the scene in front of him that he finds himself crouching, controlling his breath as he stoops so that he’s silent and invisible. 

The two of them are sat together close on the couch–neither one talking–and Ryan’s eyes are closed as Ray runs his fingers across the man’s face. Ryan’s  _bare_ face. 

They’ve all seen Ryan without the mask, without face paint before. They fight and rob and cause mayhem in all sorts of weather, in all manner of undress, and inevitably the thing got lost, the paint got smudged. But when the heat of the moment was over, Ryan didn’t want to be spoken to, looked at, and definitely not goddamn  _touched_  until the mask was firmly back in place.

Michael can respect that, and he finds himself instinctively not looking at the man’s face, even as he spies. He just watches Ray’s fingers. Ray traces the shapes of Ryan’s cheeks, his forehead, and Ryan leans lightly into the touch. 

Michael is just barely breathing, then, as Ryan maneuvers Ray to sit lightly across his broad lap. Ray smirks, sitting easily, threads his fingers through Ryan’s hair–and Michael can hear Ryan humming, soft. Soothed. 

And then there is a hand at Ray’s jaw, Ryan’s thumb against the soft skin as he guides Ray into a gentle kiss. 

There’s a sound behind Michael in the kitchen. His eyes shoot to the pair on the couch–but they’re lost in the moment, haven’t noticed–and Michael spins silently. Goddamn Geoff. 

Michael catches the unsuspecting man in a rear naked choke, hand clamped across his boss’ mouth before Geoff can cry out–and of course Geoff is struggling, but Michael eases him into the doorway, freeing the hand around his neck to point. Geoff’s body goes slack the minute he sees the two bodies on the couch–realizes who it is and what he’s seeing–and it’s all Michael can do to quietly support his dead weight and push him back into the kitchen, leaving the two of them in privacy.


	21. Fake AH Crew fluff with trans!Jack

“Ow–it–ehh–god, Jack, I really didn’t think braiding would hurt this much?”

“I’m shocked and delighted that you of all people are tenderheaded,” Jack says around the elastic she has clenched in her front teeth. “Hold still.” 

“I’m trying,” Ryan says, still squirming. “This is like a torture technique.” 

“I’m french braiding your hair–not giving you corn rows. You should be happy I’m going as easy as I am on this tangled mess.” 

Jack makes a mental note to teach Ryan about the concept of hair conditioner because whatever he’s using now is not cutting it. 

Doing a braid at this angle should be easy–but somehow it’s not. She’s used to braiding her own hair instead, hands held above her head as she practiced by touch until her arms were aching. It’s odd doing it on someone else–and no one else in the crew has hair long enough to practice on other than Ryan. 

“Where did you learn this?” Ryan asks, probably trying to distract himself from the pain. 

“My mom,” Jack says. “I always wore my hair long growing up and when I started taking grappling lessons, it got in the way.” 

Her mom had walked her through it a hundred times, braiding the hair adeptly with slender fingers before tucking the ponytail underneath and pinning it up to form a neat, tight style. It stayed in place through flying armbars and triangle chokes–a pretty braid and an efficient choice for a fighter. One of the only times growing up she’d been allowed to indulge in something so traditionally “girly”–and therefore one of the things she’d reveled in. 

“OK,” she says finally. “You’re done. See what you think.” She presses a hand mirror into Ryan’s palm and watches him rise to look at himself, moving the mirror this way and that as he stands in front of the larger bathroom mirror, trying to maneuver to get the best look at the back of his head. 

“Jesus, it’s like a magic trick,” Ryan says, reaching up then to touch the neat rows of braids. 

“You look good with your hair pulled back,” Jack says. And he does. 

“Who’s getting hairdos? What’re you two up to?” Gavin bounds into the room, flopping onto the bed behind Jack before curling around her, hands on her hips.  “Oh, very nice,” Gavin says, not waiting for an answer and peering into the bathroom at Ryan. “You did that Jack? S’lovely.” 

“Gavin–hey you didn’t answer me about–shit, did you cut Ryan’s hair, Jack?” Michael swings into the room and is immediately distracted. 

“She braided it for me,” Ryan says, turning so Michael can see. Michael crosses and runs a hand reverently down the braided pattern. 

“Damn, that’s nice. I bet it would hold up in a fight too.” 

“We doing mani pedis or?” Ray says from just beyond the doorway. Michael steps in to make room, flopping down onto the bed and into Jack’s lap. “Oh nice,” Ray says, now that he can see. Gavin sits up and begins to run his hands through Jack’s hair. 

“Ah, lovely Jack, so many talents…” he says. Jack shakes her head free. 

“For christsakes,” Jack says, slouching back onto Gavin. “All we’re missing is the boss and–” 

“That’s fine, you don’t have to invite me to whatever fun party is happening in Jack’s room,” Geoff says, resting his head on Ray’s shoulder. “I won’t be devastated–it’s cool.” 

“It wasn’t really a formal invitation situation, Geoff,” Ryan starts. 

“Hey man, lookin sharp,” Geoff says, winking. 


	22. FH Joel + FHOT7 + anxiety

Joel should be in a great mood–and maybe that’s what makes the entire situation worse as the days goes on.

They’ve just moved into the office. Spent the weekend together celebrating Matt’s birthday–all seven of them in town at once. A rare luxury, really. Stress is at an all-time low. 

Still, a fist of anxiety squeezes around Joel, starting when they rise and squeezing tighter as the day goes on. Joel disappears to a room where there’s no filming as soon as he’s not needed, heart fluttering and mind thrumming. 

He’s fighting an anxiety attack and he has no idea why. But the last thing he wants is six lines of questioning about it.

By lunch, he feels like he’s been running all morning–mind blanking out, body exhausted. The rest of the crew heads out at noon, Bruce only poking his head in for a moment to ask if Joel wants to come to Chipotle, or wants them to bring him something. Joel shakes his head and Bruce leaves without another question. It’s easy to get lost in the shuffle of seven bodies–especially when you’re Joel: buoyant, self-sufficient, always working on something.

Joel tells himself he’ll go grab something to eat–but then he walks through the steps in his mind. Walking out of the building–eyes on him. No, he’d rather not. Getting in his car–the possibility of traffic, the start and stop of gridlock that made him dizzy, the LA heat. He’d  _definitely_ rather not deal with that. And then walking in somewhere–even a gas station–more eyes on him, a cashier he doesn’t know. He can barely stand the thought.

Joel is the first one to volunteer to buy embarrassing shit in person–from disgusting junk food to novelty butt plugs–and he always does it with a proud smile. But it’s simply not like that when there’s panic in his chest for no reason. Every potential gaze from a stranger feels like a weight on his shoulders he’s not ready to bear today–and so when the rest of the crew returns to the office after lunch, Joel has not even stepped out of the office for a sip of water.

In the end, it’s Spoole of all people who eases Joel out of it. 

Joel doesn’t know if it’s pure dumb luck that Sean is randomly compelled to come visit with him or if he really does have a sixth sense for when one of them is upset. (They’ve all noticed it–the well-placed touches, the smiles when they need it most, the thoughtful and almost invisible way he moves to the one of them that needs it the most. But they’ve never discussed it.) It doesn’t matter in the end as Sean presses into the room slowly and quietly, knocking on the door frame.

“Hey, uh, Joel–do you want this stuff? I brought it but turns out I didn’t really want it today,” Sean says. He’s holding out a bottle of water, a protein bar, an orange. 

“Those are disgusting,” Joel says, nodding at the bar. “And yes. I do.” 

Sean hands it all over, happily, holding Joel by the hand just a touch longer than necessary–and for a second Joel’s heart leaps in panic again, thinking Sean will catch his eyes, that whatever’s going on will be instantly recognizable and then Joel will be faced with what he’s been avoiding all day: six other people asking him what’s wrong, is he mad, what’s going on, is he ok? The antithesis of calm. 

But if Sean sees anything, he hides it well–dropping his eyes immediately as he smiles and hands over the food. 

“Do you mind if I work in here with you?” Sean asks, looking at his feet. “I just need to edit. They’re really loud in there today.” 

“When are they not?” Joel asks, already taking bites of the protein bar. It’s disgusting but welcomed. “Yeah go ahead.” He kicks the rolling chair next to him out for Spoole and he takes a seat. 

They work there for a few hours, and Joel realizes that he’s actually working again–not just finding ways to pass the time as he tries and fails to get his brain to concentrate on something. When Sean gets up to go check on their progress in the main studio, Joel follows easily.


	23. Fake AH Crew ace!Ray and aro!Ryan

Shit had gone south. The cops knew  _who_  they were, certainly, but not  _what_ they’d done tonight or _where_ they were headed. So the crew scattered, knowing only that they needed to lay low until sunrise. 

Ray and Ryan hadn’t even meant to end up in the same alley. 

“Great minds think alike,” Ryan had said quietly as he approached Ray, seeing the outline of his pink rifle in the shadow. 

“Got a light?” Ray had asked, not looking up, patting through his own pockets with dismay. 

“Always,” Ryan had answered, taking a spot on the ground next to the smaller man. 

They made small talk then, passing Ray’s hand-rolled cigarette between them. It helped get Ray’s mind off the carnage, off the cops looking in all the wrong places–and he guessed Ryan did it just to make him comfortable, just the way that the man never turned down food offered to him, always took a finger of bourbon if Geoff asked. 

The conversation stayed light until it didn’t.

“Do you think we could ever make it work like they do?” Ryan asked. He didn’t need to tell Ray who he was talking about or what he meant. Geoff and Michael, Jack and Gavin.  _Them, they._ Ray and Ryan were the obvious conclusion, the missing symmetry. 

“We could make it work for  _me,_ ” Ray answered truthfully. “Already does.” 

“You don’t want… I mean,” Ryan had asked, gesturing vaguely. “You know I’d take you to bed if you want.” 

“Ryan–” he said, sounding more cautionary than he meant, not sure if he wanted to pursue this conversation. He stubbed out the cigarette on the concrete beside him. 

“It’s ok if you don’t,” Ryan had said quickly. “Not to presume, but I’ve never gotten that vibe from you. That you wanted me like that.” 

“Not anybody,” Ray said. 

“No, yeah,” Ryan said. “I get that. I like what we have right now.” 

There was a long pause. 

“You know, it’s a weird time to tell you this, but I do love you Ray,” Ryan said.

Ray had laughed. It would be shocking to hear anyone else say those words to him covered in a cop’s blood but somehow it felt right coming from Ryan as they passed their time in a goddamn alley. 

“I don’t want to date you,” Ryan had clarified. “I like what we have. It works for me, too.” 

“You know, I think I love you too, Ryan.” 

“Yeah?” the man had said, smiling, the smile apparent in his voice. 

“Not even in a lame platonic way, either,” Ray said, leaning now into the other man. Bloodstains be damned–they could get new clothes the next day. “You’re a good partner to me.” 

Ryan’s hand found his, gave it a squeeze. 

“I like the way that ‘partners’–hm… It has a good ring. What does Geoff say when he cooks? Ah… it has a good mouth-feel,” Ryan said. 

Another long pause, and both men leaned more heavily into each other, the weight of the night starting to boil off.

“I can’t believe I’m holding hands with you in an alley right now, Ryan,” Ray said. 

“It’s good,” Ryan said. “Really good. Y’know. No romo.” 

“Right. No romo.” 


	24. Beach Haus FH AU Joel + Bruce

Bruce is skeptical as Joel walks them into a bright Caribbean restaurant on the corner of the little town center. The spot is as quaint as any other–looking like it might serve nice food, plenty of tourists, big painted surfboards propped against the wall next to appropriately beachy decor. For a minute, Bruce thinks that maybe the kid has tricked Bruce into taking him on an actual dinner date–not that Bruce would mind that in the least. But Joel had been babbling about drinking and dancing all week–and this looks like a more likely spot for a platter of blackened fish and friend plantains than any sort of night life. 

Joel almost doesn’t notice when Bruce stops at the hostess station at the front of the restaurant, but as soon as he realizes the man isn’t one step behind him, he returns and takes Bruce lightly by the wrist. 

“Bruce, come on,” he says, smiling, leading the out-of-towner through the restaurant, winding easily through diners and tables, past waitresses that smile at them, and then up a flight of creaking stairs that Bruce didn’t notice at first. As soon as they’re out of the restaurant proper, Bruce can hear the pulse of music. Reggae–he realizes as they mount the stairs–and not the typical frat boy “Legend” remixes–an actual reggae band is playing somewhere.

They burst up onto the second story–a rooftop bar–and they can see every bit of the tiny tourist town, sudden and unexpected: the squat, flamingo-pink hotel, the buzzing blue neon of neighboring bars, the rhythmic red pulse of the four-way stop at the small town center. Joel is already dancing, smiling, pulling Bruce towards a dance floor–and the people here aren’t from the same population as the tourists downstairs. They’re the deep sort of tan that you earn through a life worked outside. Their flip flops are worn down so thin they might as well be barefoot. They’ve got beat up sunglasses propped on their heads even though the sun has set long ago. This is where the locals are tonight–and of course Joel would know that, of course Joel would bring him here, would be pulling him straight towards the dance floor.

“Hey, come on, don’t you want a drink first?” Bruce asks with a smile.

Joel fixes him with a dubious look.

“Please don’t tell me you’re the type of tourist that needs to get plastered before they can dance,” Joel says, going cocky. 

“Fuck you, absolutely not,” Bruce says. “You wanna fuckin dance, let’s dance.” And it must be the right answer because Joel laughs and sways and backs into the crowd of moving bodies, confident now that Bruce will follow.


	25. Joelremy + teasing

Jeremy should’ve just thrown in the towel when he’d heard the phrases “Xbox Kinect,” “How-To recording,” and “Adam and Matt are out sick” in quick procession from Joel’s mouth. 

He should’ve just coughed hard and shook his head and said “you know what, boss, I think I’m coming down with it too now that you mention it,” and turned on his goddamn heel and gotten back into his car and driven home where he was safe from getting alternately handled and hip-checked by his devastatingly handsome, devastatingly 43-year-old boss, where he wouldn’t have to listen to Joel’s voice as it hiccuped and gasped through Jeremy’s name–his stupid voice hitching like a porn star voiceover, halfway between a gulp of air and a… 

Shit, Jeremy has already lost his train of thought and they aren’t even playing yet. This is going to be bad. It’s going to be terrible. It’s going to be–

“You have to stand like this–no–Jeremy, pay attention!” Joel is snapping at him (well, pretending to snap), standing behind him, trying to get the Kinect to pick up his signature and failing. Jeremy goes limp as Joel raises and lowers his limbs. 

“OK, you have to… ok but like this or–… right so,” Joel rambles as he troubleshoots, moving Jeremy around. Jeremy goes completely limp. This is ridiculous. “I think it’s… the contrast is bad, you need to take this thing off–” and Joel is in front of him now, unzipping his fucking hoodie–goddamn undressing him– _this fucking day_ –and he wonders what’s going on in the Achievement Hunter office today and whether or not he’d be safe from Joel if he found some excuse to HAHA OK WELL THAT WAS DEFINITELY A HAND ON HIS ASS god fucking damn it he should’ve just gotten himself sick–there’s no shred of possibility that he’s going to survive longer than a few hours alone with Joel.


	26. XRay and Vav - tempted to join the dark side

“He has some sort of powerful technology that we didn’t know about, Vav. We… have to do something before he uses it on someone else!”

“Like what sort of technology? A… freaky robot or… torture thing?” 

“I don’t know–I… I didn’t get a look at it ok. It’s some sort of mind control device.” 

“Mind control? Good God Xray, what did he do to you?” 

“I had a dark moment there, after he captured me. I felt myself… I don’t know how to say this. I wanted to…  _I wanted to join him, Gavin.”_

Gavin fixes his friend with a long stare.

“What?” Ray asks, finally. 

“Mind control, hm?”

“How else, Gavin? He clearly has some sort of advanced technology–far beyond what we imagined and–”

“Are you sure it’s not that he’s really really ridiculously good looking?” 

“What? Gavin, I– quite frankly I’m insulted.”

And then, after a minute: “He’s not even that good looking.” 

Gavin barks a laugh at that. 

“Are you  _blind,_ then? And that voice, Xray. That… you know that thing he does with his eyebrows? That wiggly thing. Diabolical.” 

Ray crosses his arms firmly. 

“Mind control, Vav. Motherfucking mind control. He’s gotten you too. It’s worse than I thought.” 


	27. Micheoff - aftercare when Geoff safewords

The bed isn’t their bed anymore–like some invisible tether has yanked Geoff from the quiet house, the familiar room. He’s rudderless in a churning ocean. The word is out of his mouth before he even understands what it means, panicked and uncomprehending–as if something beyond consciousness is the last defense between Geoff and whatever it is that  _this_  is. Some deep-seated self defense mechanism, producing the word from thin air as he starts to drown.

Michael reacts before Geoff even has time to process what his own mind is doing, what he’s saying, why he’s saying it, and everything stops in the room. Michael comes to rest on his side, facing Geoff, stroking one hand across his forehead and using the other to thread fingers into Geoff’s own, squeezing his hand tight. Michael’s eyes search his–not for an answer as to why, maybe. Maybe just looking for a way to help. But it’s too open, too much suddenly, as if Michael is looking through him, as if the moment spiraling outward from the moment before like a fractal is visible in the air between them, and Geoff forces his eyes shut.

“I’m sorry,” Geoff says after a moment. And Michael doesn’t bother answering–pulling Geoff to his chest instead, hipping up in the bed to pull them closer, pressing warm, strong hands into him as if to explain that he won’t ask questions, that he doesn’t need answers, that Michael is here and he loves Geoff and it is no effort at all to be patient for him, to simply stop and exist with him if that’s what Geoff needs.


	28. Ryan walks in on Geoff and Michael

Ryan’s first indication to turn around in his tracks should’ve been the low laugh he hears from the hall.

He’s heard Geoff make the noise before–deep and fond–but it’s almost always reserved for Michael and accompanied by a meaningful glance between the two.

So when Ryan hears the laugh– _that laugh_ –and not much else from the office he thought was empty, he should’ve just turned on his heel and decided to let his jacket sit at work through the weekend–cold arms be damned. He had other jackets.

But his mind is elsewhere, already barrelling on to the weekend and plans for Saturday, and so he strides into the office anyway, making it five, six, seven paces in before he hears the abrupt intake of breath. His hand is already fisted into the heavy fabric of his jacket by the time Ryan is pivoting, realizing his misstep, turning towards the couch.

It’s not even a little subtle, and neither man moves to try and pretend like they’re not completely out of bounds–like the bounds  _aren’t_  a faint memory receding into the distance. Because there’s really nothing they could do, Ryan realizes, to make the situation less conspicuous.

The two of them are tangled on the couch–Geoff flat on his back, Michael splayed across his boss, both men face to face, Geoff’s shorts open and a good half foot lower than they would be if the two of them were sharing some sort of platonic bro nap, his tattooed arms disappearing under the fabric of Michael’s shirt–and Michael is nestled in between Geoff’s spread legs, laying across his boss’ stomach, his chest.

Ryan can feel a hot blush from his collarbones to his hairline and it’s mirrored in Michael’s face as his coworker grimaces up at him from the couch. Of the three of them, Geoff is the only one who doesn’t seem embarrassed–though it might just be the sleepy affect of his heavy-lidded eyes.

“Forgot my jacket,” Ryan says by way of an apology, holding up the garment as if that proved something.

“Shit, um,” Michael says, shifting backwards. Geoff’s eyes go panicked then and his hands shoot to his employees hips, keeping him in place there–and with a silent calculation Ryan realizes that the only thing that could make this  _more_  awkward would be the two of them disengaging at this point with their pants half down.

“No, no, don’t get up–” Ryan says, the same way you’d excuse someone who politely tries to rise when you join them at the dinner table. Ryan is shocked and pleased by how steady his own voice is. “I’ll see myself out but… I mean, come on you two, a level of professional courtesy…”

“Ryan, fuck, I’m sorry, we should’ve just gone home and–” Geoff starts in an apologetic whine.

“I’m just saying, you two know where to find me,” Ryan says, barely believing the words coming out of his mouth but not stopping himself either. “I’m just saying an invitation would be nice.”


	29. Bakery AU - Ryan in glasses

Allergies have been a bitch this spring.

More than a bitch. Eight bitches on a bitch boat.

It starts with a stuffy nose and just escalates from there until Ryan begins having a full-blown allergy fiesta by Friday. His eyes are dry and scratchy as he wakes up in the dark that morning, and though a hot shower helps to ease off the sandpaper feel in his throat and begins to loosen up the pressure in his sinuses, the steam does nothing to alleviate how goddamn itchy his eyes feel.

A glasses day. As much as he hates it, today will be a glasses day.

—

Ryan is in that morning like clockwork, and Michael barely looks up from the bakery case when the man pushes through the door. Michael already has a cup of coffee waiting for him on the counter–lots of cream and no sugar, on the house for regulars of course.

“Mornin, Ryan,” Michael says, his arms shoved deep into the glass case as he tries to recover one of the small signs that’s fallen over. Ryan grunts in response and Michael can see his pants legs through the front of the case. Finally Michael maneuvers the stupid little sign back to where it belongs and he moves to stand up and take Ryan’s order. “So what’s shakin’ this mor– _whoa_.”

Michael doesn’t  _mean_ to stare.

But when Michael is back to his feet and face-to-face with the customer, he’s struck by a new accessory. Small wire-framed glasses are perched on the bridge of his nose.

“You wear glasses?” Michael asks, realizing immediately that it’s the most moronic thing he could possibly ask someone who is… clearly wearing glasses.

“Your powers of deduction are as astounding as usual, Michael,” Ryan says fondly.

“It’s just I’ve–well you never wore them  _here_ before,” Michael says. He rubs the back of his neck. He really has a talent for sounding like an idiot, especially in front of Ryan.

“I don’t, normally,” Ryan says. His eyes fall to the bakery case as he frowns. The glasses slide almost imperceptibly and the customer reaches to push them back in place, two fingertips pressing them back up the bridge of his nose.

Oh  _fuck_ that’s adorable.

—

The young baker is staring at him like a zoo exhibit.

And every time he tries to see what’s new in the case, the glasses slip down his nose. It’s not high-pressure enough to be a nightmare, but Ryan is at least vaguely aware of what a fucking nerd he must look like today. Shit, he needs to just buy a croissant and get gone before he’s completely destroyed any sort of allure he might’ve established with the  _one_ person he could count on to flirt with him every day. Damage control.

—

“I’ll have, uh, a butter croissant today.”

“You sure?” the baker asks, hitching an eyebrow. “Because I really need someone to taste this batch of kouign-amanns before I set them out and if I eat any more bread dough this morning I’m gonna puke. I got a tongue lashing from Geoff about the ones yesterday being oversalted.”

“A kouign-amann, then,” Ryan says, frowning and pushing at his glasses. God, it’s too much. He needs to leave or he needs to get behind the fucking counter as soon as goddamn possible because Michael is about to vault over the fucking thing and if he breaks anything else in the little bakery, Geoff’ll start docking his wages.

“I’ll… yeah I’ll try one,” Ryan says, assuming Michael didn’t hear him the first time. Shit, he’s… how long has Michael been standing there. This is the actual worst.

—

Michael retrieves something that looks like a fancy folded biscuit, deposits it on a piece of wax paper, and slides it across the counter to Ryan.

“I want real feedback, now,” Michael says. “Better to hear the bad news from you than my boss.”

Even as he passes over the pastry, though, he’s staring at Ryan–biting his lip now, like he wants to say something else.

Ryan takes the pastry and ventures a bite. It’s a beautiful balance of chewy and crunchy, savory and sweet–flakey bread and butter and a rich sweetness with a late little bite of salt. Fuck. That’s a good goddamn pastry.

“Definitely not too salty,” Ryan says. “You either fixed whatever happened yesterday, or Geoff is an asshole with a sensitive palate.”

“Not… necessarily mutually exclusive,” Michael says. Still staring.

When Michael refuses to let Ryan pay him for the coffee or the pastry, he stuffs a five into the tip jar and gets ready to leave, hoping his glasses don’t steam up in the stupid humidity the minute he steps out of the shop. If this interaction is any indication of how the rest of the day is about to go, Ryan is  _not_ looking forward to interacting with everyone at work–who have also never seen him with these stupid fucking glasses on.

“Hey Ryan,” Michael says, just as Ryan is about to step out. When he looks back, the baker won’t meet his eyes. “You should, uh. You should wear your glasses more.”

“Seriously?” Ryan asks, taken aback.

The baker fixes him with a pleading stare, giving him a little shrug before nodding gravely.

Fucking plot twist, Ryan thinks to himself.


	30. Fake AH Micheoff - You tried to blow up my car (sfw)

Michael had been interrupted in the middle of the job – and he’d settled on flirting as the best distraction technique to get himself out of the situation unharmed. But five minutes into the conversation, Michael finds that the adrenaline has worn off. And he’s just agreed to a _date_.

“So, 8 tomorrow. Where can I pick you up?”   


Michael is swallowing hard. He needs to buy time. Or… shit, he needs a distraction – but he’s got no way to signal Gavin that they’re halting this job. What would he even say if he could speak to Gavin? 

_Hey boi, our mark is kind of my type and he just asked me out so we’re gonna 86 this job and tell Marco to fuck off…?_  

“Or… I could meet you somewhere?” the man offers. The man’s hitching his eyebrows, unsure of his misstep – and christ almighty is Michael screwing this up at every turn. 

“Um, yeah, you can definitely pick me up,” Michael says, kneading the muscles at the back of his neck and suddenly feeling far too hot in the leather jacket. “I’m in the towers off of Integrity Way – know it?”  


“Sure,” the man says – how had he introduced himself? Jeff? “I’ll be downstairs.” 

He digs a half-sized business card out of his pocket and hands it over to Michael. It’s just a name and a phone number – Geoff Ramsey. 

“Text me if you change your mind,” Geoff says.  


“I’m, uh, not gonna change my mind,” Michael says – because he’s not. “Hey, y’know, I think we got off on the wrong foot – “  


“How do you figure?” Geoff asks, hitching an eyebrow and smiling, assuming this is some sort of continued flirting technique.   


Michael just sighs – finds a slip of paper in his jacket pocket, scribbles down his own phone number – but he doesn’t hand it over to Ramsey yet. 

Instead, he pushes past the man and drops to the ground in one smooth, practiced movement, rolling head and shoulders under the car. He grabs the sticky bomb he’d placed ten minutes earlier, shimmies out – knowing he’s blushing hard now, unable to meet the man’s cool blue eyes – and Michael stands, pressing the slip of paper into Geoff’s hand, breaking into a quick jog down the alley and away from the failed assassination. 

He knows Geoff’s seen the bomb – and the guy obviously isn’t stupid. Oh well. No dinner then, maybe.

“Sorry about the whole sticky bomb thing,” Michael says over his shoulder. “Text me if you change your mind about tomorrow!”   


Geoff looks down at the slip of paper in his hands, dumbfounded. 

“I’m… not gonna change my mind,” he says to no one but himself, watching the figure disappear around a corner.


	31. Bruce/Risinger slight nsfw

“I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here, Bruce,” Jon says through a smile, his back against the inside of the hotel room door – because they hadn’t made it any further inside than that before Bruce was up against him, unbuttoning the thick shirt, pressing a strong hand against a delicate neck. 

“You’re facing the consequences of flirting with me,” Bruce says. “Nobody from Funhaus warned you?” 

“They, uh–” Jon says, fighting to keep it together as Bruce’s hands move to his chest, his waist, his breath catching because Bruce isn’t joking anymore, isn’t being gentle, his hips bucking against Jon’s, pushing him back into the door, hands squeezing him and making him feel narrow, small. 

“I thought they were joking,” Jon says, trying to collect himself as Bruce’s beard scratches against his chest, his mouth working against one of Jon’s nipples. “Fuck – you know – jokes, we joke a lot –”

Bruce disengages and snorts a laugh, standing up to face Jon now. 

“You really do talk too much, Jon,” he says, tangling a hand into Jon’s hair, fisting it tight at the base of his scalp, pulling him into a rough kiss.


	32. Micheoff blowjob w/pierced cock Michael

Everyone wanted a piece of Michael after the piercing healed – but time after time he finds himself returning to Geoff.

Michael tries to tell himself that the attraction is their relationship – the chemistry they have, the easy time spent together. But if he’s really being honest with himself (and it’s difficult not to be honest in a bathroom stall at work, his hands threaded through Geoff’s wild hair, Geoff gulping hard around Michael’s cock) he gravitates towards Geoff because all of the man’s talk about being the inventor and perfecter of sucking cock had ended up not being all talk.

Or… even a little talk. 

And while in the past Michael had needed to reciprocate in order to benefit from Geoff’s oral skills, the dynamic had changed the first time Geoff got his mouth on that piercing. He’d been insatiable after that – sneaking a hand into Michael’s shorts during recordings to gently roll the ring between his fingertips, pulling him into any dark and quiet corner of the building before dropping Michael’s pants to the floor, offering Michael rides home that turned into evenings of piercing-centered edging. 

Not that Michael minds. Even a little. 

And most of the time Geoff seems to get off on it as much as Michael does – today being no exception, Geoff moaning softly as Michael grips him tighter by the hair, Michael knowing he can feel the ring against the back of his throat as Michael starts shallow thrusts into the kneeling man. Geoff loves this the most – when Michael uses him, fucks his mouth – but Michael usually held back, afraid of hurting Geoff with the piercing, afraid of wrecking his voice for the rest of the day’s recordings. But fuck it, Michael thinks, if Geoff is going to drag him around by the cock piercing, Geoff will have to live with the consequences.


	33. Geovin: Woke up naked on your lawn (sfw)

“Geoff it’s fucking  _freezing_ , come on,” Gavin says, cupping himself and wanting to disappear, peering at one blue eye through the cracked door.

“Yeah, well. Nice and warm in here,” Geoff says – and Gavin can see a quarter of the man’s frown. 

“Stop being a bastard,” Gavin says, trying to sound fond but knowing irritation is slipping into his voice. “The neighbors –” 

“The neighbors got a full view while you were passed out,” Geoff says. “Christ, at least it was dark.” 

“At least pass me out a towel,” Gavin begs. 

“Towels are for people who answer my eight thousand text messages,” Geoff says. “Towels are for people I wasn’t worried goddamn ill about all night.” 

“Geoff – come off it, I don’t even know where my phone  _is!_ ” 

“I’d ask you if you can hear the tiny violin I’m playing just for you but I’m sure the downpour is drowning that out,” Geoff says.

“I’ll suck your cock Geoff – just  _please –”_

“Seriously Gavin? Is that easier for you than just saying you’re sorry?”

“Well, I mean,” Gavin says, sucking a shaking breath. It’s fucking frigid and he’s soaked. “Yeah. Yes. It’s easier.” 

“OK, well, good luck with the clothes situation,” Geoff says, and the crack begins to close.

“Geoff – wait – I’m sor–” but the lock is already clicking shut.


	34. Love Song of GLR fluff with a kitten (micheoff, sfw)

It’s 2 a.m. on a Saturday when Michael shows up sopping wet on Geoff’s doorstep. Geoff frowns and steps out into the cold, trying and failing to silently shut the creaky door behind him lest he wake his damn mom up.

“What the fuck,” Geoff hisses.

“Listen, before you freak out on me, I seriously had nowhere else to go,” Michael says, and he’s hunched strangely, hands at his chest. “Ray’s out of town, Kerry and Gavin won’t answer their fucking phones, and my parents have already said they’ll strangle me if I bring home another animal.” 

“An… Michael. What,” Geoff says, deadpan. 

“Can we just come inside?” Michael asks, pathetic, almost begging. Geoff heaves a sigh.

“You’d better be quiet. As. Shit,” Geoff warns. 

Geoff grabs an armful of towels as he guides Michael back to his room. He shuts the door behind them. 

“OK asshole,” Geoff says. “What the fuck kind of hurt bullshit wild animal am I about to get into worlds of trouble with my mom over?”

Michael unzips his jacket a few inches, and cupped against his chest is a black and white kitten. Its fur is damp and matted and it stares at Geoff with green eyes for a long moment before issuing forth the tiniest, most pleading “reeehhh” of a meow that Geoff has ever heard. 

“Oh my God,” Geoff says. “You’re such a fucker. You brought a kitten. A wet fucking kitten. You’re… honestly the worst person.” 

“What’s the matter?” Michael asks – but Geoff is already stepping forward, plucking the kitten gently out of Michael’s jacket, taking it to his bed, depositing it on one of the towels and softly rolling it, trying to get it dry. 

“Now I have a pet,” Geoff says, not looking up. “Way to go asshole.” 

“You’ll take care of it?” 

“No, I’m going to put a fucking tiny adorable kitten out into the sleet and snow so it can die miserably. Of course I’ll fucking take care of it, what the fuck is wrong with you.” 

Michael puffs a laugh through his nose. 

“Guess I chose the right place to drop off a kitten at 2 in the morning,” Michael says. 

“Fuck you, Jones. You’re the shittiest fucking friend.” 

“I’m your friend?” Michael asks through a smile. 

“No. I got too fucked up over how cute this cat is and I misspoke,” Geoff says. “Now get the fuck out of my room.” 

“I can’t get a towel or anything first?” Michael asks, too amused by this development to be mad at the typically rude treatment. 

“No,” Geoff says, swaddling the kitten and gathering it to his chest. “The towels are for Beef.” 

“Beef?” 

“That’s its name, Michael.” 

“Oh,” Michael says, cocking an eyebrow. “Ok. Got it.  _Beef._ ” 

“Right, so. I’m sure you can find your own way out,” Geoff says. “If you wake my mom up, I swear to Christ, Jones.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Michael says, waving him off, standing to move to the door. “Gotcha. I’ll be quiet. See you Monday?” 

Geoff doesn’t respond, too busy curled around the kitten at his chest, his eyebrows knit, his voice dropping as he talks softly to the animal.  _“Hey buddyyy. That’s better, huh? Yeah. Fucking Washington, huh? I feel you. Fucking cold-ass bullshit.”_


	35. The Recipe - ruined food (myeoff, cannibal au, sfw)

“RYan please, it’s ruined – just throw it out,” Michael whines. 

“Not a chance,” Ryan says. “Do you remember what a prick this guy was? I nearly broke my fucking neck that night. I am  _not_  wasting something I worked so hard for.” 

“But this whole goddamn thing is going to taste like garlic salt now,” Michael says, crossing his arms and pouting. “You think Geoff’s not gonna notice that? It’s gonna be fucking gross, dude.” 

“We’ll just up the ratio of the other ingredients to balance it,” Ryan says, stirring the pot. He’d scooped out as much of the salt as he could, but the damage had been done, most of it getting incorporated into the simmering dish before he could do anything. “Simple math.”

“OK, well simple math tells me we’re going to end up with like eight pounds of risotto,” Michael says. “Christ we should  _not_ have tried to cook Geoff dinner. This was doomed from the start.” 

“We’ll have a lot of leftovers,” Ryan says. “Not the end of the world.” 

“Ugh,” Michael groans. “Watch this guy go all gamey after a day in the fridge though. Bleh.” 

“We’ll have to keep our fingers crossed that he’s less of an asshole now than before,” Ryan says, shrugging and starting up a second pan to sautee the extra ingredients. 

Geoff enters then, slinging his bag down on the kitchen island, smiling at the sight of the two of them in the kitchen. 

“This is a nice surprise,” he says. “What smells so good?”

“Mistakes,” Michael says, quickly. 

“Risotto,” Ryan corrects. “With venison.” 

“And  _salt,”_ Michael says. 

“ _You’re_ salty,” Ryan teases.

“Not as salty as this poor guy,” Michael says under his breath. Ryan clears his throat. 


	36. More Jon and Bruce (nsfw)

Jon doesn’t mean for it to become a steady thing. Kovic has his hookups with Geoff and Jeremy when he’s in town. James makes his way through the whole RT menu of offerings. Jon hadn’t understood the allure of being someone’s out-of-town side action – until he’d spent that first night under Bruce. 

And now he finds himself in idle time struck by random images from that night that make his cock throb. Bruce holding him easily against the hotel mattress by the hips. The juxtaposed sensations of Bruce’s beard against the skin of his ass and the man’s tongue teasing him open. The broken voice Bruce had used to say “ _fuck_ Jon!” as he came. 

And so Jon finally gives into the pull, the company-wide anticipation, the nervous, excited chatter the next time the Funhaus team makes a visit to Austin.


	37. Fake AH Micheoff - meeting before they're the FAHC (sfw)

It’s an easy enough scam for a bunch of fresh-from-high school kids. Send Ray to work as a pizza delivery guy. Ray cases new joints, finds out how to get let into people’s homes, marks down which people have nice shit to steal. And then, when the good marks call in for another pizza, Ray feeds the details and addresses to Michael and Gavin, who show up in Ray’s uniform to summarily rob them blind. 

And people just  _let them in,_ Michael thinks. It’s incredible. 

Until it backfires. 

Tonight’s mark has a house off the main drag in an up-and-coming part of town – not the nicest, not the kind to have a security system, just the right spot to rob the fuck out of someone. 

Michael stands in the rain and rings the doorbell, waiting impatiently. A young guy answers – maybe 30 – barefoot, lots of tattoos, looking like he’s just woken up. Ray has told Michael that he’ll probably be alone but to be wary. Michael has three empty pizza boxes in his satchel and he pretends to support the weight as he tells the man the charge, trying to find an excuse to step inside. 

He ends up not needing one.

“Shit, hang on,” the guy says, “Wallet’s somewhere inside. Actually – shit, let me not be rude, come in out of the rain.”

He hits Michael with a rakish white smile and Michael doesn’t miss the way the man sizes him up from head to foot.

“This is like the opening to a bad porno,” Michael says, stepping in and closing the door behind him and following the man as he steps into his kitchen.

“Or a very, very good porno,” the man says, fixing him with a smile for a moment before he starts searching for his wallet. Michael sets the satchel down on the counter.

“Or a robbery,” Michael says, and he’s stepping forward, pressing the barrel of his gun to the base of the man’s skull. 

Michael isn’t 100% sure what happens then – it all goes down too fast, the stranger somehow snaking an ankle between Michael’s legs, tripping him, wresting the gun out of his hands as Michael falls to the polished wood floor.

“Let’s stick with the porno angle, kid,” the guy says. Michael stares down the barrel of his own gun. “I think it’ll turn out better for both of us.” 

“Sure,” Michael says, trying to sound unfazed, holding his hands up in surrender. “You got it, boss.” 

“Please tell me somebody is  _actually_ making my fucking pizza somewhere?” the man says, still smiling, incredibly. “I can forgive petty crime but I’m  _really_  gonna be pissed off if you’ve ruined my dinner plans.” 

“I’ll, uh – I’ll make the call. They’ll be fast.” 

“Grand,” the man says, tucking Michael’s gun into the back of his pants. He retrieves the satchel full of empty boxes and tosses it down to the floor next to Michael. “Have your little friend pick up some beer for me on the way, too.” 


	38. Tequila - Frat Haus au

Bruce stares expressionless at James, who smiles sweetly back at him.

“That’s a damned lie,” Bruce says. James only laughs. 

“You fucking – you think this is funny?” 

The question only makes James laugh harder as he follows Bruce through the crowd, Bruce stopping every few feet to stoop and pick up an item of Adam’s discarded clothing. 

“You _know_ about Kovic and tequila – you’ve lived with him for three years,” Bruce says, half-drowned out by the noise of the party surrounding him.   


“Well I guess you shouldn’t leave me to babysit him during a party, _ass,”_ James shoots back.   


“I was showing Adam’s friend around!” Bruce says defensively – scooping up Adam’s shorts. Christ, he hasn’t found underwear yet but it’s only a matter of time. He’s goddamned _got_ to find Adam faster.   


“I saw you gettin’ handsy,” James says, only half-serious. “Did Michael give you a tour of that sweet freshman bod while you showed him the house?”   


“Jesus Christ,” Bruce says, shaking his head. “You’re so transparent – it’s honestly –”   


But he’s cut off by a near-hysterical laugh and a chorus of hoots in the next room.   


“Welp,” James says, straightening up and looking past Bruce. “Found Kovic.”  



	39. Micheoff: On plane next to celebrity crush

They’re two hours into the flight to Barcelona when Michael Jones – _THE_ Michael Jones – sighs and turns to Geoff from the window seat. 

“You had enough of those to get up the nerve to ask me yet?” Michael asks, gesturing at the neat army of empty minibottles on the tray in front of Geoff.   


“I. What,” Geoff slurs, trying not to look up from his iPad. Trying to play it cool.   


Michael sighs again and begins to massage the bridge of his nose. 

“You’ve been staring at me since I was in front of you at the security check four fucking hours ago, man,” Michael says. “And you’ve had that damned Tana French ebook turned to the same page since we hit cruising altitude.”   


“Oh. I.”   


Geoff frowns at the man next to him. He’d stared at Michael Jones’ headshot on the inside of book jackets long enough to know it was him. And he’d heard him – on NPR, on TV spots and other random interviews he somehow caught –  often enough to recognize his voice the instant the man in the seat next to him had ordered a soft drink from the flight attendant. 

“Right. SO. Let’s get it over with,” Michael says.   


“I really don’t want to intrude,” Geoff says, sobering up as fast as he can.   


“So the Knob Creek wasn’t you working up the courage to bother me for the remainder of this flight?” Michael asks – and when Geoff finally meets his eyes, they aren’t as unkind as his words.  


“These?” Geoff says, hitching an eyebrow and gesturing at the bottles. “You’re looking at my attempt to pass the fuck out and not make a moron out of myself by trying to talk to you.”   


Michael puffs a laugh.

“Failed attempt, I guess,” Geoff ads.   


“Ya tried, buddy,” Michael says – and Geoff flushes a little bit at being called “buddy” by his favorite fucking author.  


“Sorry,” Geoff says, rolling his neck, locking the screen of the iPad. He wants to disappear – and if he could somehow phase through the bottom of the jet and plummet in the Atlantic, he’d do so happily in this moment. “I’ll uh – quit being a creep.” 

He retrieves a set of headphones and starts to plug them into the arm rest, hoping that if he fires up a movie on-demand he’ll be able to stop sneaking glances at Michael. But instead he finds a hand on his arm.

“Hey – well if you don’t want to bug me at least let me bug you,” Michael says through a crooked smile. “Because honestly I’ve been _real_ curious about what kind of dude reads my books _and_ Tana French books _and_ has knuckle tattoos and a first-class ticket to Spain. Not to intrude. And there’s still – what – six hours left?”   


Geoff is speechless. He watches Michael press a button to flag down a flight attendant. 

“I’ll buy you a drink if you promise not to pass out and leave me alone,” Michael says.  



	40. Subby Ryan/Throatfucking - Ramwood

Ryan in daily life is something Geoff would probably never get _tired_ of: his scruff, his expressions, his eyes catching just right in the light. But Ryan in subspace is something Geoff is damned near addicted to. 

Ryan’s breathing goes shallow but steady as he waits for Geoff patiently -- and Geoff is certainly taking his time. Ryan’s arms are crooked above his head -- his body stretched and muscles exaggerated -- and although there had been no formal discussion of what they’d headed to his bedroom to pursue, Geoff has learned over time that the position is a not-so-subtle signal of Ryan’s mood for submission. 

He doesn’t think Ryan does it on purpose -- or even realizes it. All the better, really. The man is already dropping out of reality and into submission and Geoff hasn’t even touched him yet. 

Geoff makes up his mind and stands at the edge of the bed. He pats the mattress in front of him with a dark-patterned hand, appreciating the way that Ryan reacts instantly, the way his body arches up and curls off of the bed as he makes his way over. He comes to sit on the edge -- not sure what Geoff must want yet -- and Geoff reaches to place a hand gently on either side of Ryan’s jaw. 

Ryan’s eyes close as he straightens in between Geoff’s hands and he breathes out a deep sigh.

“Is this what you want?” Geoff asks, quietly, applying the very beginnings of pressure under Ryan’s jaw. Ryan begins to nod, but Geoff interrupts him. “Talk to me. Say it.”   


“Yes,” Ryan says. Geoff hums, dropping one hand to trace his own erection as he uses the other palm to guide Ryan down onto his side. Ryan moves easily at the touch -- eyes fluttering open and watching Geoff as he allows himself to be moved. Once Ryan is comfortably on his side, Geoff pushes him softly, rolling him so that his shoulder blades touch the mattress but his head still faces Geoff.

The hand tightens under Ryan’s jaw -- just a bit, only the slightest hint of control as Geoff’s fingers press into arteries, sinews, stubble -- while his thumb strokes the front of Ryan’s throat. 

Finally Geoff has his fill of watching Ryan pliant and far-away under his hand and he leans forward until he’s almost kneeling on the bed. Ryan knows what he wants but waits for permission. 

“Go ahead,” Geoff says. 

And then Ryan is on him, around him, held tight to the bed but working up against Geoff’s hand to take as much of Geoff into his mouth as he can. There’s only an inch or so of give until Ryan is choking himself against Geoff’s hand and the breaths through his nose are ragged and wrecked as he struggles to suck Geoff’s cock. He looks up with pleading eyes as the skin of his cheeks flushes.

“You want to be used so bad, don’t you?” Geoff asks. “You’d choke yourself for my cock.”   


Ryan pulls off long enough to issue a wrecked “ _please” --_ and Geoff’s hard-on bobs free and out of his reach. Obedient, though, Ryan’s hands don’t entire the picture and he waits now for instruction, sensing that he shouldn’t have talked.  


“Impatient,” Geoff says, smiling, pressing his hand firmer under Ryan’s jaw and knowing the blood there must be throbbing, the nerves singing with pain. 

“Should I give you what you want?” Geoff asks. Ryan’s mouth drops open at the threat of a reward and punishment in the same breath. He nods.   


“Then you’ll have to relax,” Geoff says. 

And at that, he takes Ryan by both sides of the throat again, maneuvering more of his own weight onto the bed, and in a sadistically slow stroke, he sinks his cock into Ryan’s waiting mouth, appreciating now the warmth, the wetness, the fact that Ryan is practically drooling for him now -- pressing firmly past the tight but slowly-relaxing resistance of the back of Ryan’s throat -- watching Ryan’s eyes as they go farther away, beginning to water as his throat twitches around Geoff, the muscles moving under Geoff’s fingers in a strange way that almost makes Geoff think for a split second that he can feel his hard-on _through_  the walls of Ryan’s throat -- and they’re both making broken sounds now as Geoff gently pulls back out, both more wrecked than they ought to be so early on, both already impatient for the next stroke. 


	41. Prom - Micheoff/Love Song of GLR sfw

“Geoff, I literally… like… _these are the tickets_. I already bought them.”  


Michael opens the envelope flap to show Geoff but the other boy reels away like Michael has a handful of cockroaches or something equally distasteful. He tucks his chin, back propped against the tree, and glares at Michael from under heavy eyelids. Michael’s shoulders slump. He closes the envelope and tucks it back into his back pocket.

“I was fucking joking,” Geoff says, finally.   


And sure: Michael had known Geoff was joking. Michael had also known that even if he bought the tickets for them, there was a good possibility that Geoff would say no. But there was some stupid (really, _really_ stupid, he admits) part of himself that wanted Geoff to get a prom. Because hadn’t he been denied pretty much every other normal stupid, sappy high school cliche? Didn’t he deserve at least _one_ stereotypical high school romance moment?

“So is that a no?” Michael asks, staying serious.   


“Michael –” and Geoff has a pleading look.   


“Come on, though. I can’t return these,” Michael says. “And it’s so late, there’s nobody to sell ‘em to. What am I going to do with these?”  


“Take Lindsay or Ray or somebody,” Geoff offers.   


“Lindsay is already going with Barb and Ray would rather hang himself than actually go with me to prom,” Michael says. “You really don’t want to go?”   


“I don’t – it’s not that – I mean, _no_ I don’t – but –”   


Michael closes the small distance between them, snaking a hand into Geoff’s. Despite Geoff’s height, his hand is small in Michael’s – the fingers thin and cold.

“Listen, I thought a lot about this,” Michael says, peering up at him. “I _really_ want to take you. We don’t have to even dance if you don’t want to. We’ll go to Goodwill the day before and buy the ugliest, cheapest suits we can find. I’ll pick you up and we’ll eat the most disgusting, greasiest food we can get our hands on.”   


Geoff is starting to smile now – a little crooked, like he’s fighting it. 

“We’ll walk into stupid prom together, listen to whatever shitty song that’s playing, and if you want to leave? We’ll walk right the fuck out. And then we can do whatever you want. We can… I don’t know. We’ll do something great! Or you can tell me ‘fuck off, Jones’ and I’ll just… y’know, drop you off at home. Whatever you want.”   


Geoff doesn’t say yes, but he pulses a squeeze in Michael’s palm. 

“So?” Michael asks, plastering the best shit-eating grin he can across his face, hitching his eyebrows.   


“Fuck off, Jones,” Geoff says softly through a sigh before dipping his head and catching Michael in a kiss.  



	42. Low-key GTA pet play - freewood

It’s ironic that two men with limitless resources need so very little to act out fantasies there in the penthouse. A plain leather collar – thin and black and delicate. A pair of lace panties – nothing special, nothing extravagant. It’s all they need to build out an entire erotic world together in their downtime. The vagabond crooks a finger into the collar, just enough for pressure at the back of Gavin’s neck, just enough to guide him up off of the thick throw rug of Gavin’s room and up into Ryan’s lap. 

Gavin moves silently, smoothly, and the erratic, manic energy is nowhere to be found tonight. It’s been left somewhere behind them on the sidewalk along with the shell casings and blood and forensic evidence that would send them all to jail for a lifetime of lifetimes if the LSPD could ever get a hold on any member of the crew. 

But they don’t. And they won’t. And tonight it is quiet in the penthouse and Gavin is graceful as he moves up and into Ryan’s lap with an unfocused but adoring look in his eyes. Ryan hums at Gavin’s weight across his thighs and keeps his hand on the collar to remind Gavin that he’s in control. To reassure him too, maybe. 

He drags fingertips through the downy hair on Gavin’s thighs, watching his own hand as it moves, as it reaches Gavin’s groin and traces shapes through the lace. Gavin whines low and Ryan can feel him fighting the urge to squirm. 

“Stay still,” Ryan says, firm but fond. Gavin obeys – stilling his muscles, forcing his breath more even as Ryan strokes him harder. “Good boy.”  



	43. Immortal Outlaws first time

Michael asks. And so Ramsey tells him.

She was older and she was his first and he was young – so impossibly young to think of now, even though Ramsey thought himself a giant then. He’d been big and strong as a storm, like every other teenager who had ever lived.

Her name meant “healed by God.” Ramsey says he still wonders at that sometimes – whether it had been some cruel coincidence or if his attachment to her had been predestined, manufactured to wring the most irony possible out of his life. It doesn’t hurt to think about it anymore, he says. You can only rage against something until you’re so broken and bruised that you can’t rage anymore. 

The story has only barely begun and Michael already regrets asking. Ramsey looks small and hollow as he talks about living on a coast far away from America, about that summer – and Michael knows it’s just a trick of the campfire, the shadows playing across the planes of the ancient man’s face. 

He almost stops Ramsey but the story takes on the velocity of an avalanche and Michael stills himself. _Let him speak,_ he thinks.

The first time had taken _days._

Two stolen nights of happiness – the first of its kind for him – and then things had hinged and broken as her mind went far away. 

Michael realizes he has stopped breathing. 

He pictures a girl with hair dark like Ramsey’s, with skin darker than his and brown eyes almost black. He pictures Ramsey – unmarked and mortal. 

In the breath between two of Ramsey’s sentences, Michael builds Ramsey a whole other life with the girl – the woman Healed By God, in a lifetime where she doesn’t leave her lover alone, where she swells with their children and helps patch the walls of their home and laughs when Ramsey returns at dusk with wine and fruit and a joke he’d heard on the path and cries when the fig tree near the path withers and dies and she doesn’t know why it makes her sad but Ramsey holds her anyway. Where Ramsey grows old in peace. Where the two of them frown at their children and braid their wild hair. Where they grow wrinkled and fat together and die there mercifully on the coast. 

Anonymous. Satisfied. Not even a footnote in history, bones turned to dust centuries before Michael is even a thought.

“It was a different time. She couldn’t get far enough away from me fast enough,” Ramsey says. 

Michael can tell by his tone that this is the end of their story. That the girl whose name meant healed by God had been the first tally in the dark ledger that Ramsey sees behind his eyes when he can’t sleep.  



End file.
